Rage of Heaven, Chapter Ten
by Hyaena
Summary: The conflict between Atiranhyi and Desslok culminates at last. Coarse Language, Mature Subject Matter, Violence


**10.**

**Said the Spider to the Fly**

_Your gaze sears the eye  
And dries my tears before they fall_

_You are dreaded  
Yet you are needed_

_You are the Sun._

_I fear I will die_

_But cannot fail to heed your call._

_You are dreaded_

_Yet you are needed_

_You are the Sun..._

—Septigram, _Sun_

_September 22, 2230_

The remainder of the journey to New Gamilon—a short one, by most standards—was a sort of tense hell for Atiranhyi. Unlike the other members of Septigram, she found herself completely unable to tolerate the effects of spacewarp. Each sounding of the alarm sent her scurrying to her room; she spent the time in warp crouched beside the toilet in her bathroom, waiting for the inevitable nausea. She would then have to send Treel or one of the bandmembers to Lieutenant Zoran for antiemetic medication—without it, she would feel ill for the rest of the day.

Atiranhyi had been shown the physical training room the officers used; she had devoted much of the time between warps to exercise. The gravity aboard the ship was heavier than that of Terra, and she wished to acclimatize herself. It was said that the gravity on New Gamilon was the same. She did not wish to weather any unnecessary disadvantage—and being slowed by a heavier planetary drag was something physical training could counteract.

Besides, she needed to occupy her thoughts with something other than her problems with Desslok.

Not a day passed that she did not see the Emperor, whether or not she had been notified in advance. The Gamilon ruler had a way of simply being there when she turned around or looked up; it was distinctly unsettling. Often, he would not so much as speak; he would simply pierce her to the quick with his silvery gaze, and then turn and walk away with a swirl of his cloak. His behavior made her angry and afraid by turns.

That afternoon, word reached Atiranhyi via Treel that the journey was drawing to a close. One more warp would see them into the Symbar system—and thence, quickly, to New Gamilon. Atiranhyi settled herself beside the toilet, dreading the sickening wrench and disorientation of warp. She was trying to allay her fear when Treel rushed in, eyes wide.

"Ati, the Emperor is here… he says he wants you with him during this warp." The slender Gamilon woman was slightly out of breath; she had clearly run the entire way to deliver this message.

"No way. No way in _hell._ He does know I puke every time we warp… right? I draw the line at puking in front of Desslok." Atiranhyi's hands encircled the base of the toilet as though she were afraid that she would be dragged from her refuge.

"I'll… tell him," Treel said nervously. She clearly did not relish the idea of conveying this refusal.

"Tell him it's nothing personal; I don't like puking in front of the rest of the band, either, and I'd be as opposed to Derek seeing it as I am to him." She tried to make light of the situation, but Atiranhyi was close to panic at the idea of having Desslok with her when she was, once again, at her most vulnerable.

Treel departed the room quietly; a few moments later, the bathroom door opened. This time, it was not the Concubine… but her Emperor. Desslok leaned against the doorframe, watching her for a moment before he spoke.

"You do realize… the more you work yourself up over spacewarp, the worse it is." He smiled faintly.

"Several factoids come into play here. The first… I puke whether I'm worked up or not. Last time we warped, I had trained to the point of exhaustion and was asleep when the alarm sounded. The second… I hate _anyone_ seeing me throw up. The third… you are the Emperor, whether I am on a first-name basis with you or not. Don't you think I'd feel damned strange with you standing over me while I have puke, snot and tears running down my face?"

"I'm not leaving." He settled himself on the bench along the wall opposite her, carefully smoothing his cloak. "I am certainly not trying to humiliate you, Atiranhyi; I'm here because I think I may be able to help you get through your warp intolerance."

"What's next, Desslok, watching me jerk off or something?" The nervousness of her impending discomfort made her even more tactless than usual. "I'm getting pretty fucking sick of having my privacy violated."

"I wouldn't watch, I'd take over," he said lightly.

"I knew it! I just fucking _knew_ that's what you were after! Look, I don't care what you say or do; I'm not going to fall merrily into bed with you—or anyone else! I'm not interested in—" Atiranhyi broke off suddenly; the warp alarm had sounded.

Desslok moved closer to her at once, and pulled her hands from their grip on the toilet. She started to struggle, but then the sickening spacetime slip began. She was aware of his soft-spoken words, encouraging her to concentrate on the grip of his hands and not on the erroneous sensations given forth by her confused brain. She had just enough left of herself to be quite irritated at the fact that, once again, Desslok had won. The dissociation was nowhere near as severe as it had been, despite the length of this warp.

When it ended, Atiranhyi found herself face to face with Desslok, closer than she had ever been to him. Their hands were interlaced with each other, and her eyes were locked with his. At once, she tried to pull away; he hesitated a moment, and then let go of her hands. The memory of his alien touch remained on her skin, and she tore her eyes from his with difficulty.

"How do you feel?" Desslok asked.

"Angry. But not nauseated, which is what I'm sure you mean." She curled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, gazing balefully at him.

"Angry is your usual state; the lack of nausea is encouraging. You won't need to worry about another spacewarp for a long time, though," Desslok said, rising. "We will be in orbit of New Gamilon by the end of the day. And then, we will go planetside immediately. I've much to show you." He turned to depart.

"Desslok," Atiranhyi burst out. "What… color is the sun of New Gamilon?"

"Symbar is a class F blue-white dwarf star, on the main sequence. Treel is waiting to help you pack; I will see you soon."

Once again, Atiranhyi waited until Desslok left to give vent to her emotions. Rather than a string of expletives, however, what emerged were tears. Treel came in, seeming about to ask a question. When she saw Atiranhyi curled in the corner of the bathroom, weeping bitterly, she gasped and ran to her at once.

"What's wrong? What is it?" Treel knelt beside Atiranhyi and put a hand on her shoulder.

"N-nothing, you can really help with, Treel. I'm homesick, confused and scared. Desslok helped me handle the warp… and I almost wish he hadn't. What am I supposed to do? He's around every corner… I feel his eyes everywhere…"

"So do we all. There is a reason we revere His Majesty so. Nothing happens in the Empire that he does not know." Treel picked up a towel from the floor and dabbed away Atiranhyi's tears, but more followed.

"It's more than that with me, though, isn't it? No one else has this much of his undivided attention. He doesn't… follow others and personally observe them. Tell me what he wants… I can't take any more of this!" Atiranhyi's hands seized Treel's slim shoulders and she stared wildly into the Concubine's eyes.

"This part of things… I think I can help with," Treel said gently. "I may get into some trouble if I tell you too much, but I don't like seeing you like this. I know you're afraid, but the fact is, you have less reason to be afraid than we Concubines."

"I'm not just afraid for myself; I'm afraid for the rest of Septigram, and even for Valas. What's going on, Treel? What does Desslok _want_ with me?"

"I'm going to tell you the situation, and then I will tell you the best way to handle it. The first thing I will tell you… His Majesty will not hurt you willingly. The reason is… he has Chosen you. You are Empress; you just have not known this until now." Treel lifted the towel to wipe more tears from Atiranhyi's face, but she pushed the Gamilon girl away, a little violently.

"Just like that, huh? Without so much as asking me, and after completely fucking my life up, he expects me to just smile and crawl into his bed? The _hell_ with that—fuck Desslok and _all_ of Gamilon, and not the nice way, either!" Atiranhyi leapt to her feet. "What happens if I refuse? What if I fight him until he _has_ to hurt me?"

"Please, Atiranhyi," Treel said, her own eyes now filling with tears. "It is not merely a matter of Desslok's physical desires; that was _our_ purpose, after all. I could go into many, many reasons you should accept this—not the least among them, the treaty with Terra. Have not many women in your history accepted arranged marriages for the sake of the nations involved?"

"This isn't the fucking Middle Ages and I'm not some cloistered little Catholic princess!" Atiranhyi snapped. She stalked out of the bathroom; Treel followed her, wringing her hands.

"I know… I know you aren't," Treel said. Now, she was the one who wept. "But the people you will aid by doing this are not faceless, unknown entities. Besides your band, every one of us Concubines has much resting upon this… so does General Talan and Lieutenant Valas. His Majesty will not ill-treat you or confine you any more than needed." She dropped to her knees before Atiranhyi and pressed her brow to the tops of the woman's bare, brown feet. "I am begging you. He will never allow you to leave… must other hearts break for that? Can something good not come of what has happened to you?"

"Get up," Atiranhyi said, pulling Treel to her feet. "You know I can't stand that shit; you say I'm an Empress? Here's your first order: never kneel in front of me like that again. Now… what _exactly_ do the Concubines have riding on this?"

"Everything, Atiranhyi," Treel said softly. "You know that His Majesty has… a terrible temper. If he is thwarted, he may do to us what was done to Tantha. He may kill every one of us. Beyond this… a promise was made to me. I am… ashamed to tell you my part in all this, but how will you trust me if I do not? Atiranhyi… there is one whom I love. And it is not His Majesty. It has been promised to me that… if I succeed in convincing you to take the throne at His Majesty's side… I will be given to General Talan. I would be wife, not Concubine… Talan returns the love I have for him. There; you know it all. I am ashamed to have told you so little… but I was afraid. Afraid of the Emperor… and afraid of you as well." Treel lowered her face into her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

"Treel… don't take this as an outright refusal, all right?" Atiranhyi was shocked from her anger by Treel's sincere distress. She drew the Gamilon woman into an embrace, holding her and stroking her coppery locks. "I need some time to think. I also want to talk to the others, especially Cody. Can you… not say anything to Desslok until I come and find you again?"

"I will try… but if I am commanded, I must obey," Treel whispered.

"I understand. Dry your eyes...," Atiranhyi said. She suited action to word, wiping away Treel's tears with the edge of her sleeve. "I'll be back soon."

Treel settled herself in a chair at the foot of Atiranhyi's bed.

"I will wait," she said softly.

The moment Atiranhyi stepped into the hall and closed the door, she broke into an all-out run, headed for Cody's room. She rained a hammering of knocks on the door, praying that her drummer was not training or practicing with headphones. She was rewarded a moment later when the door opened. Cody looked up at her, a brow lifted with concern. He reached out a tattooed hand and took her arm, guiding her in and sitting her down at his table. He said nothing until he had placed a steaming cup of tea before her.

"Talk to me. What's happened?" he asked.

"Étienne was more than right. And so were you. And I don't have any idea how to handle it. He wants me to take the place of all those Concubines… Treel said he's 'chosen' me. She said I am already considered the Empress." Tears threatened again.

"The first thing to do is to concentrate on not panicking. This sucks because you have no real choice. I'm quite sure all our lives, yours included, will be made some kind of living hell if you try to refuse him. I'm not going to hand you any 'close your eyes and think of England' nonsense… but know that I'm not going anywhere. I won't leave you alone with this. I took the Picoserum last night to ensure that." His voice was calm, as always.

"Treel said something pretty close to that—about things being made a living hell. Also… if I refuse, I fuck up her life at the very least… get her killed at the worst. Same with the other Concubines; he's already killed Tantha. Cody… this man is fucking batshit crazy, and I'm scared shitless." She picked up one of the napkins and wiped her eyes. "All this talk about it being an arranged marriage is well and good for everyone else. In the end, though, I'm alone with him. Hell, I don't even know whether I can keep from attacking him. The shit my mother did to me runs pretty deep."

"Try to trust yourself. Try to trust the rest of us… including Treel. I get a good feeling about her; I don't think she's bullshitting when she says she cares about you. Yes, you'll have to spend time alone with Desslok, but let's face facts: the man has an empire to run. You'll have us as a refuge, and I'm betting your uncle—"

"_Gah!_ I'm not even sure I want to _talk_ to Derek… not for a long time. If he hadn't told Desslok all this shit—"

"Don't blame your uncle. Desslok would probably have found out eventually anyway. Your origins have become kind of an 'open secret'. Without Wildstar as a sort of filter, things could have been a hell of a lot worse. As in… he could have snatched you off Terra without us." Cody leaned back in his chair, one hand idly toying with the labret ring that pierced his lower lip. "I think you should contact your uncle as soon as possible, even if that means sending him a subspace text and waiting. He knows Desslok pretty well. He may have some coping strategies or even some sort of work-around."

"You're right… and you're right about not panicking. I'll text Derek as soon as I possibly can. I'm going to go back to Treel and tell her the joyous news." Atiranhyi made a face and rose to her feet.

"Think of it this way: at least this won't be as difficult as getting that DMA you never attach to your name." Cody smiled faintly, and walked her to the door.

Once in the hallway, Atiranhyi stopped. She knew she was only delaying the inevitable, but she was in no hurry to return to her rooms. She leaned against the wall for a moment, splaying her fingers against the cool, greenish metal of its surface, and closed her eyes.

_I can't believe I'm doing this,_ she thought. _Here it is, the twenty-fourth century… and I'm about to agree to a dynastic marriage to a man I barely know—and can barely even stand._

Finally, she squared her shoulders and pushed off from the wall, bare feet soundless upon the carpeted floor. As she entered her rooms, she noted that Treel was, yet again, tidying up.

"You're slacking, Treel," she chuckled. "Two whole grains of dust have fallen since the last time you did that."

The Gamilon woman started and spun around, dropping the cloth.

"Oh! I didn't expect you to return so soon," she said. She knelt, picking up the cloth. Though she did not speak, her red-golden eyes asked the question.

"I'm going to do it, Treel. I want you to know that it's as much for you as it is for my band, or the people of Terra. There's something I need from you, though." Atiranhyi sank down into one of the large chairs beside her bed.

"Anything. Anything, even unto my very life," breathed Treel, tears standing in her eyes.

"It's not going to come to that. Keeping you around is one reason I'm doing this, remember? What I need is… information. I know the mechanics of sex; who doesn't? My problem is… I know jack shit about how to please a man. I've never so much as kissed anyone."

"But… how could you not… you mean you've never…" Treel trailed off, the expression on her face one of complete shock. It was as though Atiranhyi had admitted to all manner of revolting peccadilloes.

"No time. No opportunity. And no man I've ever been attracted to that way."

"You mean… you are not attracted to the Emperor?" Treel's question came out as a gasp.

"You want the polite answer? Or do you want the truth?" Atiranhyi folded her arms, tucking one foot beneath her.

"The truth. I gave you no less than that."

"Treel, I can't stand him. He's overbearing, arrogant and cruel. He may be beautiful, but I'd honestly rather… oh, forget it. I'm sure you get the point."

"He came to you and helped you through your warp-sickness. He saved your band, your life… even your harp. And you call him _cruel?_" Treel's voice had lifted in outrage.

"He follows me the fuck around all over this entire ship! He probably has this room bugged—along with everywhere else I ever go! And did you forget the bullshit he pulled on me with the Picoserum?"

"I fail to understand how his desire to heal your injuries is 'bullshit'! Any of us would give all to have such favor from the Emperor as you have, yet you act as though it is a burden!"

"Why can't you understand that it _is_ a burden? All I ever wanted was music. What I had with Septigram back on Terra... that was my dream, Treel. Music for its own sake, with others of like mind." Atiranhyi lifted a hand, wiping angry tears from her eyes.

"Don't you see? You can have that with _us! _Do you not understand that we love you and your music as much as Terra does?" Treel went to Atiranhyi, kneeling before her and taking her hands. "And when it becomes known that you made such a sacrifice for me and others, they will love you even more. You may have lost one people. But you will gain another, Atiranhyi. Please… give us a chance."

"I'm sorry," Atiranhyi sighed. "I don't mean to make this so awful for you. I'm just having a very hard time giving up what I know in favor of what I do not. And I'm sorry my feelings toward Desslok are such that they upset you. I'll do the best I can, but it'll be for you and for Valas… and even General Talan and Lieutenant Zoran. But… there are going to be rough spots. I'm not easy to get along with under the best of circumstances. Even my uncle and I had problems from time to time."

"It is a beginning. That you will try… that is all I need." Treel rose a bit from her knees and kissed Atiranhyi's brow. "You are not merely my Empress… you are my friend. I will do all I can to help, and so will Talan."

Atiranhyi would have spoken, but, just then, the door chirped. Treel rose to answer it, and stepped aside at once, dropping to a kneel. Desslok strode in, not so much as glancing at his Concubine.

"It is time, Atiranhyi; gather your companions. We are going to the surface, to the city of Gamilas. We are home." He offered her a hand.

"I want Treel with us." Atiranhyi declined the hand and stood, once again nettled by Desslok's lack of regard to Treel.

"Very well; I am pleased to see that you hold her in high regard." There was a glint in Desslok's pale eyes.

"I'd say she was doing fine even if she wasn't. Whether I liked her or not, it's _bullshit_ that you killed Tantha."

"Oh, is it, now? I suppose you would have welcomed the opportunity to fight for your life against her? Tantha was plotting to assassinate you, Atiranhyi. And, for all your prowess against your own kind, you cannot prevail against even one of my Concubines."

Atiranhyi's rage, so present since the day she had been forced to leave Terra, boiled forth. She drew back a hand and slapped Desslok as hard as she could. A human male would have fallen, and possibly have been injured; the Emperor, however, stood and took it… and then smiled coldly. From where she was kneeling, Treel was heard to gasp, and then sob.

"I see you intend to make this _interesting._ Very well; my patience with you is at an end. You will understand the meaning of that when we arrive in the city. Now… prepare yourself, woman. I will expect you in the docking bay in ten minutes." Desslok turned and stalked out.

"Gods, Atiranhyi, why… _why_ did you strike him?" Treel was on her feet the moment the door closed, grabbing Atiranhyi's hands. "I wanted mercy to be shown to you… I wanted to help you ease into this… but now you have challenged him."

Atiranhyi did not answer; she stood, shaking with fury, her hands tight upon Treel's. She herself did not know why she had slapped Desslok; the enormity of the act was, however, beginning to register to her. She realized with a sick lurch that she may not have doomed only herself, but Treel and Septigram as well.

"What happens now, Treel?" Atiranhyi asked faintly. The rage had drained from her like water. Terror and shame had risen in its place as she realized the enormity of her actions.

"He will still claim you. But… he might choose to do so through combat. And there will be no mercy, Atiranhyi. He will take all from you, and more."

"How do I save my friends? How do I save _you_, Treel?"

Treel's answer was simply a shake of her head.

"Don't tell me that. There has to be a way… I'll get him to listen!"

"I know you will try." It was the best Treel could offer; the despair in her eyes made that clear.

"Let's go." Atiranhyi wasn't sure whether she could make Desslok any angrier than he already was by being tardy, but she didn't wish to find out. Likewise, she had no intention of making matters any more difficult for Treel.

The walk down to the docking bay was a silent one, despite the presence of the entirety of Septigram. Cody fell into step beside Atiranhyi; Treel walked at her other side. Atiranhyi scarcely paid heed to her surroundings; the others had picked up her unsettled mood and merely offered unspoken support by staying close.

They arrived at the docking bay; interestingly enough, nothing recognizable as a ship was present. Instead, there seemed to be some sort of shielded platform, set about with elegant, ornate chairs. The platform was enclosed on all sides with transparent steel windows; it seemed to be more of an observation deck than a spaceworthy craft.

"What's this thing?" Ewa asked. She had stopped short upon seeing the platform.

"It's my personal grav-tower lift," Desslok said; they all jumped, for, yet again, no one had seen him before he spoke. "There are no spaceports on the surface of New Gamilon; they are far too damaging to the local ecosystem, and are not accessible to our larger ships. Shuttles and other spacecraft require a massive amount of fuel to even reach escape velocity. With a gravity tower, no such drain on resources becomes necessary. There is a platform above us in geosynchronous orbit; we will be descending via a permanent tractor cable. Do not be alarmed; it's quite safe." He turned and walked to the open ramp leading within the transparent steel enclosure.

Atiranhyi followed after dropping back to rest an arm around Ewa's shoulders; the Polish woman had a fear of heights. Privately, she welcomed the need to be attentive to a member of her band. She did not wish to weather Desslok's stare without distraction.

As they entered, the officer in charge of the platform guided each of them to one of the thickly-cushioned chairs. Atiranhyi hung back until the very last; despite this, as she had dreaded, she was placed directly beside Desslok, sitting at his left hand. He gave her a sidelong glance through unreadable, hooded eyes. His smile was unpleasant.

When all were seated, the platform was sealed and pressurized. The grav officer manned the controls, swinging it free of the docking bay of the flagship, and then the descent began.

Seen from orbit, New Gamilon was utterly beautiful. Its oceans were intensely blue, and blindingly-white clouds stood in stark relief against them. There seemed to be a great deal more water than land, and the atmosphere appeared to be thicker than that of Terra. The sun, behind them, was shielded from their view; the transteel windows were light-reactive in order to protect the passengers from the vicious brilliance of the blue-white primary star. The descent progressed at a stately pace, the planet below looming ever larger beneath them.

Atiranhyi busied herself with continuing reassurance to Ewa; she concentrated on helping her contain her overwhelming fright. When mere words seemed not to help, she chose to fall back on song. And she could only conceive of one melody that would cut through Ewa's terror. She needed to make her laugh.

_While out a-sailing one day in a sloop_

_I was hit by a missile that made me droop!_

_It smelled so fishy it gave me the croup!_

_What was it, you ask? It was pelican poop!_

_CHORUS:_

_Pelican poop! Dripping off my head!_

_Pelican poop! Smells like something dead!_

_Pelican poop turns my heart to lead!_

_O Pelican poop! Boy was my face red!_

_So I got off the boat and my heart hung low_

_I looked and I smelled like a freakin' freak show!_

_My face was all twisted, and chunks did I blow_

_Um... lions and tigers and bears! Oh no!_

_Pelican poop! I can only write_

_So much about something so smelly and white!_

_So sticky and gritty, its presence a blight_

_I'm stopping this now; it's getting too trite!_

This was the first time _Pelican Poop_ had been performed for anyone other than the Wildstar family. Ewa did indeed laugh, and she wasn't alone. The rest of Septigram broke into mirth, and even General Talan had to stifle a chuckle. Desslok turned and stared at Atiranhyi in complete disbelief.

"More of a measure of musical talent than anyone I have ever encountered… a voice that could move the very Ancestors themselves to tears… and here you are, singing about avian defecation." He shook his head, but some of the coldness had vanished from his eyes.

"Think that's bad? I also wrote _Look Into My Nose _and _I Wish I Had A Prehensile Butt._" She carefully schooled her features into a deadpan expression.

The song titles were too much for Talan. He immediately lost the battle against his laughter, though he tried to stifle it with one gloved hand. Desslok turned and gave him an elbow in the ribs, but this only served to make the usually-staid General laugh even harder.

"Do _not_ sing those. I don't need General Talan or anyone else repeating them," Desslok said.

"I'll just do it when you're not around." Atiranhyi permitted herself a slight smile.

"If I hear anything in my Court about noses and butts, I will hold you responsible." He then paused for a moment, looking stricken. "And now you have me saying things I never imagined needing to say."

"Good." Atiranhyi started to add a remark about Desslok needing to add an apology to his repertoire, but she bit back the words. She was already in trouble enough.

With Ewa's fears somewhat calmed, Atiranhyi found herself at exactly the kind of loose end she had wished to avoid. They were now breaching the edge of the planetary exosphere; she focused her eyes out the observation panel closest to her, watching without seeing the play of light brought on by their descent. She could feel the Emperor's gaze upon her and did her best to ignore it.

"Is it your intention to refuse to so much as converse with me, during this journey?" Desslok's tone was mild, but Atiranhyi had begun to know him well enough to know that this was the most dangerous of his moods.

"Considering that every time we speak lately, we argue… I was trying to avoid causing a spectacle." She turned to look at him, and wished she hadn't; she found herself unable to break away from his stare.

"You've no idea what 'spectacle' you have yet to cause, my Chosen." There was a collective gasp from all the Gamilons present at these words; it was the first time he had publicly stated his intentions.

"Oh, I'm sure I will soon enough." She was careful to avoid saying anything that could be taken as a refusal; she hoped it was enough to remove the threat to Treel and her other friends.

The rest of the descent passed unremarkably—that is, if one could call anything about New Gamilon unremarkable. The planet, fourth from the sun in a system of thirteen planets, was larger than Terra, with a more severe axial tilt. As they descended into the troposphere, the sky took on a rich green hue; the platform also took a buffeting from the strong winds and air currents present upon this wild, young planet. General Talan began to fill in further details.

"Our diurnal cycle is sixty-two hours long; the local planetary year is 864 days in length," Talan said. "Our seasons tend to be more severe because of our axial tilt; this also results in a lack of polar caps. What little land there is spans an archipelago around the equatorial region, and also a few moderately-sized islands scattered mostly throughout the southern hemisphere. The time period currently experienced by New Gamilon would roughly correspond to the Jurassic period on Terra; there are megafauna present, and the most highly-represented biomes are tropical and montane rainforests. There is considerable tectonic activity as well, but not to the lethal levels of our former homeworld.

"We have taken care to build in an ecologically-sound manner, and our cities are planned in accordance with the potential severe weather and tsunami activity. We have learned much from the loss of two homeworlds before this one, and we have no intention of allowing the same to happen here. There is much more to be told, but that will have to take place after we have you settled in. Welcome to New Gamilon, and to the city of Gamilas."

Talan had timed his introductory speech well; he had just concluded and reseated himself when the spires and arches of the alien city came into view, rising above the jungle canopy. Rain pelted the windows of the grav-platform; the mist made the city look even more eerie. Atiranhyi suppressed a shiver at the thought that this strange city would be her home for the rest of an unnaturally-extended life.

With Desslok at her side.

Atiranhyi grasped the arms of her chair as though to hold on to the last vestiges of the life from which she had been torn. As the platform slid into its docking tube, she closed her eyes; tears threatened, and she did not want Desslok to see her weep again. She did not open them again until the change in air pressure told her that the ramp had been lowered to allow them to disembark.

They emerged from the grav-platform and into a vast chamber with a vaulted ceiling. There were many Gamilon troops present; all snapped to rigid attention the moment their Emperor's soft tread fell upon the highly-polished stone tiles of the floor. He led them through the docking hall and into an equally-opulent passageway. Waiting for them was a tube-car, appointed with the same type of elegant seating as had been within the grav-platform. Atiranhyi started to seat herself with the rest of Septigram, but Desslok seized her wrist, pulling her down beside him. He did not speak; only gave her the sidelong glance she had come to dread.

The tube-car then slid from the boarding gangway, and shot along on its programmed course. Outside, the storm had intensified; it was hard to see much of the city beyond, because of the lashing rain.

"Know what we call this on Terra? A fucking hurricane," Étienne said. He slumped further into his seat, plucking at his restraining belt and scowling.

"On New Gamilon, we call this normal spring weather. Do not be concerned; we are quite safe. The tube walls are glassteel, and so are the windows of all buildings." Talan said. The General seemed to be in high spirits.

"Glad to be home, are you?" asked Kharzon.

"Yes. More than that, glad to have a homeworld at all."

"Shit, I'll be happy if we just have a decent place to set up. We haven't practiced since we left Terra," grumbled Cody. "And let's not forget that I need to replace my drum kit."

"None of the above has been forgotten. We will see to it that you have all you could ever need," Desslok said. He still had not relinquished Atiranhyi's wrist, though his cloak hid this.

In mere minutes, a great, towered building loomed before them, thrusting up toward the sky. Its graceful spires had a non-Euclidian look; there were no sharp angles, and it seemed almost to have been grown, rather than constructed. The tube-car slipped through a docking-port in the wall and came to a smooth stop. The doors opened and admitted the group to a hall no less elegant than had been the one from which they had just departed. There was a different feel to this cavernous space, however; it seemed built to intimidate as much as to impress. Lines of troops, at attention, stood along a long, black carpet that led to a massive set of double doors.

Desslok led them past the honor-guard and toward the doors. He kept Atiranhyi at his side, though he had relinquished the brutal grip on her wrist. She was uncomfortably aware that the soldiers she passed stared at her for as long as they could. She resisted the urge to rub her wrist. The Picoserum had already erased the bruising Desslok had inflicted, but the memory of his touch seemed almost like a burn.

The great doors swung silently open; they were now in a passageway that echoed the opulence they had seen thus far. Here, several servants politely and solicitously came forward to bring the members of Septigram to their living quarters…

… all save Atiranhyi, who Desslok continued to keep at his side.

All others had departed, including Treel and General Talan; she stood alone, in this echoingly-vast hallway… alone, save for Desslok, towering over her and looking down at her with implacable silver eyes. There was even less escape than there had been on the ship; where would she go, in an alien city, whose denizens would surely return her to the palace if—when—they found her?

_Brazen it out,_ she thought. _It's either that or end up just like Treel._

"So… what happens now?" She kept it simple; she didn't want him to hear any uncertainty in her voice.

"That depends on you, Atiranhyi," Desslok said. "I do love a challenge, you know; your defiance was a factor in my decision to place you at my side. Fight me if you wish; I will still prevail, in the end."

"Fight you? And end up getting myself killed by you or your guards? First of all, I doubt I'd last ten seconds in hand-to-hand combat with you. Second of all… I'm not going to get Treel killed. I know what you'll do to her."

"Your dedication to Treel speaks better of you than that slap. But, do not fear for Treel, or the other former Concubines. By dawn, they will have been placed in their new households. You have only yourself to worry about… and the fact that you now have my… undivided… attention." Desslok ran the backs of his fingers along Atiranhyi's cheek; unable to help herself, she flinched away. "Do you find me so repellent?"

"Physically? No. But as I said the night you tricked me into taking the Picoserum… I think you're an asshole. I don't want to be what you're trying to turn me into… but the alternatives are even more unacceptable. So, I ask again… what happens now?" She cursed herself for the trembling that had taken sudden hold of her frame.

"Perhaps I should give you an 'out'… or at least a way of delaying things a bit. There is a very old tradition among my people, born before ever we ventured to the stars… it is simply called 'the Hunt'." He would have said more, but Atiranhyi gasped and reeled back a step.

"No. No, I'm not going to do that. I already know how that ends… "She could not countenance the thought of playing out her recurring nightmare—a dream that now seemed as though it may be prophetic.

"Do you?" Desslok closed the distance between them, and caught Atiranhyi's chin in his fingers, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Tell me."

"I don't want to tell you. Am I not even to have privacy in my own dreams?"

"I am curious. Tell me."

"Your curiosity doesn't make a good reason for me to share something like this with you. Let's just say… I knew New Gamilon had a white sun years before I saw it." She wanted to push him away, to tear her eyes from his, but dared not; she knew further defiance would only goad him.

"Ahh, so you share some of the psi abilities held by the Royal House of Iscandar." His arm encircled her body and drew her close against him; he smiled as he felt her tremble. "I knew telepathy and a certain amount of clairvoyance were present in Starsha's family, but precognition is something unexpected."

"It's only been that dream. And now I seem to have assured it won't come true, so… " Atiranhyi placed her hands on Desslok's chest; anything to reassert some control of a situation that was quickly overwhelming her.

"You still have to make your choice, my Chosen. Come willingly, do battle or be Hunted."

"You mean, get raped on the beach or get raped in the comfort of your rooms!" Again, she immediately regretted what she had said.

"Do you think I'll simply hurl you to your back and attack you like an animal?" Desslok's chuckle was dark. "No… by the time I truly claim you, you will be begging for it, Atiranhyi."

"You arrogant fuck!" This time, she did shove him away, hard enough that he staggered a bit. She stood, hands fisted, enraged enough to throw caution to the wind.

"Come on, then. Battle is your choice?" Desslok reached to his shoulder and unclasped his cloak, letting it slip to the floor behind him. "I'll sweeten the deal. If you win, I will allow you to return to Terra. But… if _I_ win… you squirm in my sheets tonight."

His arrogance made Atiranhyi reckless. Her lip curled to a snarl, and she moved into a stance. She saw through the eyes of her half-mother then, saw the man that had ended one future, and was now stealing another. She sized the tall Gamilon up, her eyes like those of a tigress, cornered and ready to attack.

He feinted to her right, clearly testing both her reach and her reflexes; she danced aside. Her returning blow connected with nothing; Desslok was terrifyingly fast for a man his size. She was outmatched and she knew it, but her anger, ever her downfall, would not allow for capitulation.

He paced around her; she kept him before her, turning to face him as he moved. In a blur of motion, he struck toward her midsection with the heel of one hand; she evaded the worst of the blow, but was still winded, forced to concentrate on controlling her breath. She stepped back a few paces to attempt to get some distance, but Desslok came at her again, aware of his potential advantage.

This attack did not go as he had planned; she succeeded in catching the punch he had leveled toward her temple. Atiranhyi attempted to strike his elbow and hyperextend the joint, but he jerked his arm back, dragging her with it, and headbutted her violently across the bridge of her nose.

White-hot pain exploded behind her eyes, and she stumbled back, trying to evade him long enough to recuperate. Atiranhyi was dimly aware of warm blood gushing from her nose and covering her face and chest. She got her hands up, with difficulty, just in time to slap aside a front kick. Again, she backpedaled, and Desslok followed her.

More to buy time than anything else, she snapped out a low, sweeping front-kick. To her surprise, it connected with his shin, eliciting a grunt of pain and causing him to stagger. She attempted to take advantage of the temporary instability with another kick, this one aimed at the knee, but he evaded it. He began to move toward Atiranhyi again, and her fury was suddenly replaced by panic.

Turning on her heel, she fled toward the nearest door she could see; she found herself running down a long, down-sloping passageway. She could hear Desslok behind her; he was quickly closing the distance between them. There was a smell of moist, warm air, laden with greenery; she fled toward it, praying that she had found an open door. She dodged into another hallway to her left; she was encouraged by seeing what appeared to be natural light streaming through an oval-shaped doorway.

The moment she passed through the door, Atiranhyi realized she had made a mistake. There were indeed plants here, but the light came from skylights set into the vaulted ceiling. The room she was in was some sort of solarium. Unable to contain the terror she felt, she continued to run, fleeing along the elegant, tree-lined walkways. Desslok was just behind her.

When she felt him attempt to seize her hair, she took the last possible avenue of evasion: she vaulted into one of the great, fern-branched trees, scrambling upward as high as she could. She clung frantically to the trunk of the tree, her breath whistling in and out of her lungs, broken by occasional terrified sobs.

"You do realize that tree will be of finite use as a safe haven." Desslok's voice held amusement. "I can wait as long as necessary; you won't be able to remain up there forever. Indeed, I could draw my sidearm and stun you, and then catch you as you fell."

"Damn you," she wept. "Damn you to _hell… _why does it have to be me? Why can't you take one of your Concubines?"

"They are not worthy. Especially not when compared with one of Iscandarian blood. Come down from the tree, Atiranhyi."

Atiranhyi closed her eyes and simply let go of the trunk, allowing herself to fall backward. Though the Picoserum had mostly remedied her injuries, she didn't have the strength to face the downward climb. Part of her hoped that Desslok would fail to catch her.

It was a vain hope. Her fall was broken by his strong arms, arms that closed around her in a possessive grip. Atiranhyi kept her eyes closed, not caring to see which way she was being carried or anyone they passed.

The shipboard chambers of the Emperor had been splendid, but they were nothing in comparison to what was within the palace. Atiranhyi opened her eyes when she became aware that they had passed through a large door; she heard it slide shut behind them, as heavy as the door of a vault.

The room they had entered—some sort of parlor or sitting room—was larger than had been the entire loft apartment she occupied in New York City. It was decorated in deep jewel-tones, at once opulent and somber. She had time to see few details, however; she found herself carried further, through another set of doors, and into Desslok's bedchamber. As they entered, several servants knelt, awaiting commands. Desslok spoke in sibilant Gamilon, and they vacated the room at once.

He crossed to a large chaise-lounge and settled upon it. He leaned back, laying Atiranhyi at his side, gazing silently down at her. She tried at first to avoid his eyes; more than ever before, his stare frightened her. At last, she opened her eyes to look at him, and to her surprise, he was smiling; it was the gentlest expression she had yet seen him wear.

"So afraid," he said softly. "And you have less cause to be than any other in the galaxy; you alone are truly safe with me."

Atiranhyi started to make a sharp retort, but then the realization struck her: yet again, Desslok was right. Had he wanted to, he could have killed her; the Picoserum would not have been able to regenerate the damage done, for instance, by a crushing blow to the skull. The only response she could think to make was a question she had asked before.

"What happens now, Desslok?" All her anger had now been replaced by an ineffable sorrow.

"Among my people—dominion. Your word shall be no less than my own, in the end. Alone with me… we have much to learn about each other. I know I can never replace Terra for you. But… I do know that, if you but give me the chance, I can give you something new. And… do you not find it ironic that the throne of the Empire will pass in time to one of Rapa Nui blood? I destroyed your mother's people. In return… I give you my own." A gentle hand caressed her cheek; the show of affection seemed far more sincere than when he had done the same before they had fought.

"I don't want dominion, Desslok. I've told you before… my life is music." This time, she did not flinch away from his touch. She remembered that Treel had said much the same thing.

"And you will have that. I am not going to expect you to sit in Court and take part in the governance of the Empire any more than you wish—even if that wish is not at all. And you had an audience among us, even before I chose you. Even I remember the _Spheres and Energies_ concert." His smile deepened. "And I'll try not to be such an _asshole_."

She couldn't help but smile at that.

Desslok then placed his fingers beneath her chin, turning her face up to his. His lips met hers, gentle but insistent; Atiranhyi closed her eyes and allowed his tongue to slip between her lips. The fear was still there, but so was her resolve to keep her promise to Treel. His arms slipped around her, and this time, she returned the embrace. She was astonished to feel that he was shaking as much as she was.

_Well, even if this goes wrong,_ she thought, _I know for a fact that what that Sodality agent put me through was worse. I have no choice but to try to trust Desslok… or risk what little I still have left to me._

She did not resist when Desslok lifted her into his arms again, nor when he carried her to the huge, draped bed and lay her upon it. He kicked off his boots, and then gently removed the sandals she was wearing. Desslok then stretched out next to her, drawing her close.

"The one time I wear shoes, and off they go," she said. She was trying to lighten the mood a little, but her nervousness made her voice shake.

"Being barefoot suits you," he said. One hand threaded gently through her hair. "And surely, being completely unclothed will suit you even more."

Gently, he reached to the magnetic clasps on the shoulders of the tunic she wore, and unfastened them. He brushed the silken fabric down, revealing the lacy camisole she wore beneath it. She shivered as his lips trailed from just below her ear and down the side of her neck. His too-warm hands caressed her shoulders, and then he sat up. He was already without his cloak; that had been left where it had fallen, in the passageway where they had fought. He removed his uniform shirt and the grey undershirt beneath it, tossing both carelessly to the floor.

Any woman not completely sexually inert would respond to his graceful perfection; not a scar marred his blue skin, and his toned body was sleek with muscle. Atiranhyi stared, and was distantly astonished at her own reaction; a flush came over her, and she could not resist the urge to sit up as well, and hesitantly caress his chest. He smiled, and gently tugged the laces of her camisole so that it began to fall open; scarcely knowing what she did, she shrugged out of it and let it fall to land beside his boots.

His arms slipped about her again, drawing her close, closer than anyone had ever held her. She turned her lips up to his; she had a sense of the same thing she had felt in the tree—a letting go, a surrender to what was to happen. This time, though, she did not wish Desslok to fail in catching her. His kiss was more intense and demanding than the first; she allowed him to claim her mouth and tentatively returned his kiss. When she felt his hands glide to her waist, slipping beneath the fabric of the skirt she wore, she simply unclasped it and allowed it to join the growing pile of clothes upon the floor. She was now all but bare before him; he broke the kiss and leaned back to take in the sight of her body. Her skin tingled beneath his gaze.

Desslok didn't speak; the blaze of his eyes told Atiranhyi eloquently of his admiration—and his primal desire for her. Artlessly, he kicked out of his pants, shedding whatever undergarment he was wearing along with them. When Atiranhyi saw the size of his manhood, the sheer girth and length of him, she gasped. Seeing her apprehension, he drew her into his arms once again, caressing her hair and her shoulders. He lay down, drawing her beside him.

The warmth of him was soothing, as were his caresses. As she lay in his arms, struggling to shove aside her fear, she thought of Treel, and even of Tantha. Both the Concubines were small and slight compared to Desslok, but they certainly seemed to enjoy his attentions. Surely she—Atiranhyi—could at the very least tolerate it. She allowed herself to relax, a little at a time.

Some time later—mere minutes or an hour, she didn't know—she became aware that Desslok had turned her to lie on her back. Atiranhyi trembled as his kisses became yet more demanding, and his hands moved to caress her breasts. Atiranhyi gasped, suddenly feeling short of breath… his hands! Again, it felt as though fire followed his touch. She was torn between the urge to arch her back, press her flesh more closely into his caress, or pull away, try to run… try to save herself from the cascade of sensation that had begun to surge through her body. She tried to repress a moan as his lips, even warmer than his hands, began to trail kisses along her jaw and down her neck. She struggled to stay still; of itself, her body wanted to rock and writhe. The growing moisture between her legs made her feel shamed and wanton by turns. She knew his hands would discover that, as well, and know that she had already lost the fight.

Another shock of sensation jolted her system as his lips encircled the stiffening peak of one nipple; it felt like electricity traveled down her spine, forcing her hips to rise of themselves. She made a sound; she, herself, could not tell if it was a moan or a sob. Her hands grabbed at Desslok's shoulders; her intent had been to push him away, but she found she could not, could not make her body obey her. His knee parted her thighs; her will wanted to clench them together, but the fire in her body refused; they fell open, leaving her vulnerable, knowing she was all but his.

And then his lips began to trail down her body, kissing and licking, and giving her the occasional sharp nip. She had heard the ribaldry of the men in her band too many times to be ignorant of what he would do to her next. As his shoulders slipped past the reach of her grip, her hands twisted in the silk counterpane below her. She quivered like a struck harpstring as he kissed his way down to her mound.

She felt his fingers gently part the petals of her sex; she heard him chuckle darkly, and knew it was because he had felt and seen how wet she had become. Atiranhyi trembled, feeling more vulnerable and out-of-control than ever in her life.

When the tip of his tongue caressed her swollen clit, she gave a hoarse cry, just short of a scream. The sensation jolted through her body like high current and she felt the last shreds of her resistance fall away. Desslok chose to show her no mercy; he furled his tongue hotly against the center of her pleasure, and it was only seconds before she shuddered and screamed her way to a violent climax. Even then, it did not end; he continued to wring pleasure from her body, over and over again. When she felt him slide two of his fingers inside her, she ground down upon his hand, wanting them deeper, wanting even more of the maddening sensation he brought to her.

When he let up at last, she was too weak to move, too overcome by the fire in her belly to do more than gasp, gazing at a man she now knew to be utterly her master. Desslok moved up between her legs, his silver eyes fixed upon her. She could not look away, even as she felt the head of that huge shaft part the lips of her sex and bear in.

There was little pain; some dim recess of her mind registered surprise. There was only the sensation of being filled… impaled… and wanting more. Her hips lifted from the bed, inviting him deeper, and he was all too glad to oblige. Atiranhyi let go completely, allowed him to take control.

The dance of their passion started at a slow and almost leisurely pace. She twined first her arms and then her legs about him, and he thrust faster… harder. Desslok himself was abandoning any semblance of control; Atiranhyi realized he was as overcome as she, and it made her that much more eager for yet more of what was happening to her. Another violent climax wracked through her body, and she gave another wild cry, digging her nails into his shoulders. The sting of pain seemed to only goad him further; the sound of flesh upon flesh became even more savage as he pounded into her in a primal frenzy.

Atiranhyi had no sense of the passage of time; she was dimly aware of blacking out at one point, her senses overloaded by pleasure. When she returned to herself, it was still happening; she was too weak, though, to be anything other than a vessel for his pleasure and her own. Her body shuddered with the jackhammer blows of his manhood, a broken doll.

She felt him tense, and then roar. Moist heat filled her, and the sting of his teeth meeting in the flesh of her shoulder made her shudder and scream. The pain blended into the pleasure; all she could do was take it and _feel_.

Desslok turned his head, kissing the side of her neck; at last, it had ended. Weakly, Atiranhyi threaded her fingers through his tousled golden hair. The weight of him on top of her, the feel of him still inside her, caused a shiver to thrill through her body. He slid to the side, slipping out of her; Atiranhyi gasped at the sudden lack of fullness within her. He drew her gently but possessively close, and this time, she was willingly his prisoner. She rested her head against his shoulder, and one hand caressed his chest, savoring the strange smoothness of his skin.

"How do you feel?" Desslok asked softly.

"Different," she answered. "Dizzy… but in a good way. I thought the first time was supposed to hurt."

"Not for everyone." He pressed a gentle kiss to her brow. "Of course… my back and your shoulder got a little messy. Good thing the Picoserum doesn't allow such things to remain long enough to be an irritant. I'm sorry I bit you so hard."

"I… kind of liked it." Atiranhyi giggled weakly. "We were loud; I bet the entire palace knows."

"Servants do carry tales, it is true. But… have no shame in what we are to each other, my Chosen."

"I'm more worried about the band," she sighed. "I hope I don't get a load of smartassed comments."

"I think you can deal with it, if you do. I've borne the edge of your tongue many times, you know." He chuckled softly and drew her a bit closer.

"I'm sorry I've been so bitchy… but I have to be honest. I still don't know how I feel about all this… about you. I enjoyed what we did, but I don't know if I can say I love you."

"You will know your feelings in due time, Ati." He turned her chin up and looked into her eyes. "Remember the tree? I will be there to catch you if you fall for me. And I will never let go."

She gazed back at him for a long moment, and then lifted her lips to his, pressing a kiss for the first time. The taste of him and the feel of his lips was a sensual pleasure in itself, one which she knew she would often relish.

"Sleep, my love," he whispered, when their lips parted.

She gave way to her exhaustion, and allowed herself to rest in his arms as sleep indeed claimed her.

_The sun's vicious blue-white light, beat down upon her head and arms. She was running, running through the familiar/unfamiliar alien vegetation with the knowledge that she was fleeing some dire pursuer, a fate to which death would be preferable. Her feet were bare, and the ground was searing hot, yet she dared not slacken her pace. She ran like a hunted animal, too afraid to so much as look over her shoulder at whatever was in pursuit. Her bruised and battered body told her that for all her height and physical strength, she could not prevail against whatever wished to prey upon her. She had been forced into this headlong flight across a span of stony beach, heading for the treeline of the alien jungle. She crashed into the underbrush—and realized she had made a terrible mistake. As though they were snares, the vines entangled her limbs, and she fell hard, striking her shoulder on a rock, and tearing her flesh on daggerlike thorns. A pair of hands, steel-strong and blue-skinned, seized her by the wrists. The hands belonged to an immensely-tall Gamilon with golden hair and eyes of silver; he drew her into his arms and then pulled his sidearm, firing at Atiranhyi's pursuer. She saw, then, what truly pursued her, the demon that had sought to batten upon her flesh._

_It was her mother, cadaverous and corrupt, as she had been the day Atiranhyi had slain her._

_She watched as the blaster bolt caused her mother to collapse, her body caving in upon itself, leaving only a slick stain of filth upon the forest floor._

Atiranhyi sat bolt upright as the dream ended. This time, instead of a cold sweat, it brought ironic laughter. Remembering where she was, she fought to stifle it, not wanting to wake Desslok, but it was already too late. He was leaning up on one elbow, looking at her with bewildered eyes. The expression on his face caused her to laugh even harder.

"I really, _really_ wish to know what is so amusing," he said.

"The dream… I know the end now, and it's come true," she managed, and then dissolved again into helpless mirth.

Desslok grabbed her, pinning her shoulders to the bed. "_Tell_ me, Ati!"

Atiranhyi managed to break free of her giggle-fit; slipping her arms around her lover, she at last told him of the white sun, the chase and, at last, his rescue of her. When she had finished, his eyes were wide with admiration.

"I knew you were dreaming precognitively," he said softly.

"Hoodoo powers." And Ati began to laugh, all over again. "I really _do_ have hoodoo powers! Wait till I tell Derek… " Her eyes grew wide. "Oh, shit. I have more than just that to tell him… "

"Yes… yes, you do," Desslok said, chuckling. "And now that you've awakened me with your silliness, you'll have to find a way to get me back to sleep again." One hand caressed her cheek, trailing down along her neck, to at last cup a breast.

Atiranhyi reached up to kiss him, and the night grew sweet once again.


End file.
